


communication

by marvelleous



Category: Inhumans (TV 2017)
Genre: A series of oneshots, F/M, and prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-16 06:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12337308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelleous/pseuds/marvelleous
Summary: He cannot speak, but one way or another, they have always been able to communicate.





	1. Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> yasmin asked for a fic about medusa's feelings about her hair. takes place between 1x02 - 1x04, written pre- 1x03.

It's been mere days since she saw him last, since they parted ways back home in Attilan, and yet it feels like a lifetime has come and passed in those moments without him, her King, her husband, her Black Bolt.    
  
Medusa can still hear the sound of his beating heart, committed to her memory, the last time he was able to communicate with her, and she fears for his well-being. She carries the worry with her, weighing down upon her shoulders where her hair no longer does.    
  
There are so many reflective surfaces upon earth, and each time she comes across an image of herself staring back, her head bare, she hardly recognises it. A stranger to her own eyes. She wonders what Black Bolt will think of her now, if he will still see the Queen she has always been, or a hollow shell of her former self.   
  
Maximus had taken everything she held dear, forced her down onto her knees and stripped her of the very thing that made her an inhuman. He had violated her, stolen away her home, her family, even as she begged him not to. She had stared into the familiar blue eyes of a man who called himself her friend and seen nothing but cruelty.    
  
Death is no stranger to her, but she has never wanted to see someone dead as much as she has in these past few days.    
  
The nostalgic part of her remembers the little boy she had run around with, the trouble they had caused together, but she knows that they are no longer children, and that he needs to face the appropriate consequences for his actions. She already anticipates that Black Bolt will disagree with her on his brother's punishment. He is far kinder, more level headed than she is, despite what others may think based on his silence and outward appearance.

She misses him, more than even she can describe in words. Until now, they had yet to spend a night apart since their first night together, after their wedding day. Her first night on earth was spent hiding behind an abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, trying to get what little rest she was able. It was not the unfamiliarity of her surroundings, the discomfort of leaning up against uneven stone, or the strange sounds of the wild that kept her up, but rather what or whom she was missing. Black Bolt always kissed her goodnight, cupped her cheek and smiled as she curled up against him. But she was alone then, and had no idea where he was.

It is her thoughts of him, finding him, that make it easier for her to keep fighting, knowing that if she doesn't try, they'll never be together again. 

 

* * *

 

When they find one another again, her first feeling is relief.

He's safe and sound, all in one piece, and she pays no attention to her surroundings as she rushes forward into his arms, crying out in relief as she feels his skin beneath her hands and knows he is really there. He holds her, cupping her face and they kiss. It's almost violent, the way their lips press together, how they explore one another, as if trying to consume each other in their reunion. 

Even when they pull apart for air he does not release her, his fingers trailing against her bald head and she stares into his eyes, searching for some sort for reaction. 

She sees a flash of anger before he is embracing her fully, his strong arms pulling her body against his, and she buries her face against his shoulder, feeling the familiarity of him through the foreign fabric he is wearing. Tears escape her eyes and soak through the material, but he continues to hold her, his hands spanning her back and for the first time since she came here, she feels safe.

 

* * *

 

The human scientist is an ally, so when she offers them a place to stay while they're recuperating, Medusa accepts without a second thought. 

Black Bolt keeps a tight hold of her hand the entire car ride there, as if fearing she would slip away and disappear should he let go. His grip tightens each time the car hits a bump, and she places a palm on his chest as a way to comfort him, and also to feel his heart beating beneath her palm.

_ I missed you. _

She says nothing, only nuzzling his jaw and she knows she has to do no further when he turns slightly, pressing a kiss to her head where her hair once was, and running his thumb over her knuckles in a comforting gesture.

 

* * *

 

The battered up couch Louise has to offer them is a far cry from the luxury they had back in Attilan, but they're here, together again, and Medusa’s words of gratitude are sincere.

“We thank you for your assistance in our time of need.”

Black Bolt nods from beside her, expressing his agreement, and Louise spends a moment just staring between the both of them before wishing them a good night and disappearing off to her own room. From what Medusa has learned of the woman in the two days they've been acquainted, she thinks that their conversation will likely be eavesdropped on.

She finds that she cares very little.

“You're not hurt?”

Black Bolt allows her to pull him down onto the couch, her hands mapping his body, searching for any sign of injury. He winces when she probes his ribs a little too forcefully, but shakes his head. The only true ache he felt was in his heart, longing to be reunited with her again, and heartbreak that his brother had betrayed them like this. Her hands move to his face once more, and he places his over them, covering them and bringing them down over his heart.

_ “Did Maximus do this to you?” _

Medusa closes her eyes, turning her head to the side and trying to keep her tears concealed. She nods weakly when she feels Black Bolt’s fingers tenderly tracing her cheek, and allows herself to cry in earnest when he wraps his arms around her body. She remains silent even as the tears subside, shoulders slumping as she calms, and they shift, lying down together on the very cramped couch.

He lies flat on his back with her draped over him, and it's hardly comfortable, but the springs digging into his back and the chill of the night around them are soon forgotten as they soak in one another’s presence.

She falls asleep first, exhausted from her ordeal, but he lies awake for long afterwards, fingers tracing the curve of her hip, allowing himself a small smile as he feels her breath against his cheek. They’re in a foreign place, but at least they're together, and she's safe, here, with him.

In the moments before he drifts asleep, he thinks of the cruel, taunting words that Maximus had uttered when they saw one another last. 

_ Medusa is writhing on the floor… _

He could excuse Maximus for taking his throne, for chasing them away from their home, but his act against Medusa would not be forgotten. Black Bolt would never forgive him for that, for hurting his wife, his queen, the love of his life. He blames himself too, for being unable to protect her in that moment, but vows that he will never let another harm her again.

Her hair would grow back with time, and she would heal, and he would be there for her every step of the way, as she always has been for him. 


	2. Wedding Night (Rated M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody wanted Medusabolt's first time having sex (that someone might have been me, I honestly can't remember)

Awkward.

It's the only word Medusa can come up with to describe the situation she finds herself in. Awkward. As in, the primary feeling she has in this exact moment, sitting on the edge of her new bed, next to her new husband, in almost complete darkness. Her gown is constricting her breathing somewhat, far too tight for her liking, but as with the rest of her life, she had little input and little control over it. That is likely to change somewhat in the coming days, with her brand new title that came with the new husband, her oldest friend.

Black Bolt.

Her king.

She's Queen now, and though she has been preparing for this role for what feels like years, she doesn't think she'll ever grow accustomed to being addressed as such. Coming into such a position certainly had not been something she set out to achieve. She knows not what it was that drew her to find Black Bolt when they were still children, but can name a million reasons why she grew to love him so deeply. Being his wife meant accepting all the things that came along with it, and she knew that deep down within his heart, he had as much desire to be King as she did Queen.

They do not have a choice, and cannot shirk their responsibilities and follow their own dreams and desires. All they can do is make the best of the situation they have been put into, the figureheads of an entire race, with the sole purpose of ruling over their city and people, despite having little control over anything in their own lives, no experience and far too little knowledge in how to govern.

She's learnt much in her role as Black Bolt's translator, and she does not envy the burden placed upon his shoulders, the decisions he has to make given the limited choices he is offered. Perhaps it would be easier for him if he could vent his frustrations somehow, scream and shout about all the things that wore him down, but it’s crazy to even entertain such thoughts. All Black Bolt could ever do was isolate himself and just deal with everything, without ever making a sound.

Medusa only hopes that now he may share some of these burdens with her.

She looks to him now, sitting in silence beside her, and wonders what is on his mind. It’s become increasingly easy for her to read him as they’ve spent more and more time together, but as she takes in his rigid posture and bowed head, she feels a sense of despondency shrouding his entire being. He… he does not appear happy, and that bothers her. She knows he is weary, as is she, but they were married just hours ago, and she can barely contain her own elation, stop the wide smile upon her face.

“Black Bolt.”

Her voice is merely a whisper, but the sound tears through the empty room and he startles, turning to her with an easily recognisable expression in his eyes.

Fear.

He’s afraid.

She stretches a hand out towards him, frowning when he doesn’t take it. It takes her a moment to decide how to proceed, if she should draw her arm back and give him some space like he so often needs, or keep pushing. In this instance she chooses to be bold, cupping his face and allowing her fingers to brush along his jaw, trying to convey to him through her touch and her gaze that she is here for him. His expression softens just a little, but that’s enough of a start.

“Are you alright?”

Her worry does not lessen when he closes his eyes, dipping his head slightly, because it is clear to her that he is lying. Maybe now is not such a good time to be having a discussion which would make them both uncomfortable, seeing as they’ll have the rest of their lives for that. It is their wedding night, and Medusa is well aware of all the… events, for lack of a better word, that should transpire throughout the evening.

She’s nervous about such activities. Every care has been taken to prepare her, mentally and physically, but she and Black Bolt have done little other than hold hands prior to this afternoon, upon sharing their first kiss after being bound together. She’s not afraid, because she knows that he will never hurt her, but the nerves remain.

While Medusa had assumed previously that Black Bolt would take the first step tonight, she feels now as though he knows just as little as she does. Either that or he truly is troubled about something which he does not wish to communicate with her about. Both options leave her with a pang of sadness. She wonders if this is how they’re going to spend the night, sitting side by side until they fall asleep, fully clothed atop their bedcovers. That certainly does not sound appealing to her. She had hoped they would be able to learn one another more intimately, to kiss him again.

It’s something she desires.

She knows not what comes over her, perhaps a moment of courage, boldness, for she succumbs to her wants and leans forward, pressing her lips against his.

When at first he does not respond, she thinks she may have startled him. She tries again, soft and gentle, and wonders why he is so still. Inhaling, she allows herself one more chance, kissing him a third time, more insistently this time.

It's as if he feels nothing, or does not wish to react to such an act, and that hurts her more deeply than she can describe.

When she pulls away she goes quickly, retreating into a safe haven by shielding herself from him with her own hair, afraid to see whatever emotion may be betrayed by his eyes. She had thought he was happy about this, that they were husband and wife, that they would be together for the rest of their lives.

He had told her he loved her; could his mind have changed that quickly? Her thoughts are so poisonous, accusing her husband of such awful things, when she knows he is the kindest person in their city. She feels shame now, embarrassment, and for the first time in so long, complete uncertainty.

 

* * *

 

Black Bolt believes without a doubt, that he is the luckiest person in existence. He cares not for his crown and the little power that comes with it, nor a life of luxury. His greatest fortune is in meeting the woman by his side, the one person he loves over any other, one who is now his wife.

Which makes the thought of losing her all the more unbearable.

How he had looked forward to this day, longed to have her crowned as his Queen, to cement his devotion to her by marrying her. He had not considered fully what might come afterwards, that they would share an apartment and lie together each night. His control is unrivalled under ordinary circumstances, but nothing associated with Medusa could ever be described as anything other than extraordinary.

He has always been afraid of the destruction his own voice is capable of, but having a barrier between him and the rest of the world at night gives him a chance to close his eyes and relax, even if just for a moment. So many things he has done in his life up until now, just to ensure that he will never make a sound and destroy what is around him, but now that safety barrier is gone, and if he somehow loses control while unconscious, with her beside him…

It’s something he cannot even bring himself to imagine, but it terrifies him all the same.

The intimate acts they are supposed to perform together only add to his stress and worry, for he has learnt of how easy it is to lose control of your senses, been warned that he must not do so, that he must have restraint.

He knows not if he can accomplish that.

Medusa… just the thought of touching her brings a forth a heat he cannot explain, the touch of her lips against his had ignited a fire within him, set his heart racing at an unfamiliar speed. She’s so close to him now, only the smallest gap separating them where they sit, but as he clears his mind and turns in her direction once more, he finds himself staring at a wall of red.

She’s hiding herself, from him.

He replays the events just passed in his mind, closes his eyes for a moment as he remembers the feel of her lips against his own and the way she had pulled away from him afterwards. Could it be she had taken his reaction to mean he did not desire her? It’s a strange thought to have, but he can think of no other logical explanation. He thinks she is upset, and that he is the cause, and realises that in his fears about physically harming her, he had wrecked turmoil upon her emotions.

It certainly was not his intent to do so.

Swallowing back his fears, he stands, inhaling sharply when Medusa seems to freeze at his motions. He moves until he is directly in front of her, before proceeding to kneel at her feet. A king on his knees is an unusual sight to say the least, but he would gladly do so for the affections of his lovely Queen, so that she may forgive his misdeeds, no matter how intentional they were. He reaches for her hands, watching, mesmerised as her curtain of hair slowly parts and allows him to gaze upon her face once more.

 _I love you_ , is the first thing he lets her know, and the smile that lights up her face is enough to urge him to try harder, for her.

His hands move until they’re resting upon her shoulders, and she’s leaning so far forward he is genuinely surprised she has not fallen off the bed, but all else is of little consequence when they kiss again, this time meeting in the middle. His hesitancy fades almost completely as her taste, her touch and her scent invade his senses, overwhelming him completely as things only continue to grow more heated between them.

She pulls him closer, her hands tugging at his clothes, her hair curling around his back, and he somehow ends up sprawled on top of her, trying his best to continue their connection as she shifts beneath him, until they’re curled up together in the centre of the bed.

“I trust you,” she whispers as they pull apart for air, and somehow, that’s enough to reassure him completely.

 

* * *

 

Medusa has never really spent time imagining how her first time having sex might be like, but despite the less than fortunate start, she thinks it’s all going rather well.

Black Bolt had been a little shy when she started removing his clothes, but had not resisted, simply blushed as she pulled away his suit until he was completely bare. She blushes too, when she takes in his physique, at first hesitantly allowing her hands to span his chest, and then more confidently exploring his body, urging him to do the same with her. He has an almost pained expression as she touches him, jaw clenched and eyes squeezed tightly shut, but she knows now that it only means he’s trying to control himself, and she loves him all the more for it. She feels the firmness of his muscles beneath her palms, her fingertips, knows the strength that he possesses, and marvels at just how delicately he touches her despite all that, as if she would break if he were to exert any more energy than he already is.

He spends more than a few moments just gawking at her after she aids him in ridding her of her less than comfortable dress, and she ends up slapping him gently across his cheek with a tendril of hair just to get him to focus on his task at hand. She wants them to enjoy this, to bring one another pleasure and happiness, and to know every inch of his body as well as her own.

His kisses drift from her lips to cover the rest of her face, and then slowly trail along her jaw and the length of her neck and she finds herself slowly losing grip on reality. When he brushes against a spot just underneath her ear, she gasps, and he quickly pulls back, startled by her reaction. She laughs, shaking her head and pulling him back against her, revelling in the feel of his body against her own, the way they’re pressed together so that they can feel one another completely, and she whispers for him to do it again.

And he does.

After that moment, he delights in every sound he can draw from her, the little gasps and moans as he kisses her in certain places, touches her in others. They both grow breathless, their bodies flushed, lips bruised, wanting, no needing, one another. She can feel him hard against her, but knows he will go no further until she urges him to do so.

“Black Bolt.”

Her voice is lower, hoarse as she calls out his name, and he looks a little disappointed to be pulled away from his previous activity, covering every inch of her skin in kisses. She had moaned particularly loudly when his lips had ghosted over her breasts, and eager to please, he had remained there, teasing her, pleasing her. Her fingers had dug into his scalp, keeping him in place while he worshipped her body, hands covering all the areas his lips were not.

He looks into her eyes now, smiling as she cups his cheek with one hand, taking a deep breath when she shifts against him, making her intentions clear.

“I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.”

There’s still the slightest panic in his eyes, but that quickly fades when her hand slips down between them, fingers dancing against his abdomen as she goes. He manages to catch her wrist before she can reach out and touch him down there, and she pouts, showing her disappointment.

_Medusa._

He gives her a warning look, frowning, and she snakes a curl out to stroke his cheek.

“I trust you,” she whispers once more, and it’s just enough to convince him that all will be well.

His hands are almost trembling when she coerces him down for another kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck as her hair curls around them. He rests his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and then opening them again, needing to see her in this moment.

She's beautiful of course, but he's thought so since the day they first met.

He pushes in, slowly, but not a second has gone by before her eyes fly open and she gasps in pain. His first instinct is to pull away, but her hair is coiled all around him, and he's unable to move very far.

_I’m hurting you._

The expression in his eyes is one of anguish, and Medusa shakes her head quickly, trying her best to mask her pain.

“No, Black Bolt. Please, don't stop.”

He’s so conflicted as to how to proceed, but Medusa has hooked one leg around his hip and is coercing him closer. Her fingers dig into his scalp as she guides his attentions back towards her neck, and he understands her intentions completely.

Pleasure will distract her from whatever pain there may be.

He buries his face against the side of her neck and kisses her in the spots he now knows will make her feel good, and resumes his task of entering her, slowly and cautiously. It tests his control because the feeling is indescribable, the warmth, the pressure, and he keeps his jaw tightly clenched as he moves inside her.

The little gasps of pain gradually fade into moans and cries of pleasure, and Black Bolt keeps his face buried against Medusa’s neck, breathing her in. They continue to rock up against one another, consumed by the intensity of the sensations, the emotions that they're feeling.

She cries out his name when the pleasure reaches its peak, and he collapses against her, his body blanketing her’s, and her hair surrounding them like a crimson cocoon. They recover like that, her gasping for breath and him silently trying to draw air into his lungs.

_I love you._

It takes a minute or two for their gazes to meet once more, and it's the first thing she sees when she looks into his piercing blue eyes.

“I'll always trust you.”

He smiles, and she knows that in this moment, her words mean more to him than any declaration of love could.


	3. Responsibility (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elisha_Boltagon requested something about Medusa dealing with the aftermath of her parents being banished, and me being me had to add a crapton of medusabolt into it :) There's one or two more parts of this prompt to follow, but I thought they'd work better as separate stories, so I hope you enjoy part one!

Her parents are gone.

A whole year has passed since the day she learned of their demise, since she was informed of their betrayal and it's still the first thought on her mind when she rises each morning.

They're gone and she’ll never be able to see them again, hear their voices, feel the warmth of their occasional embraces.

Medusa supposed she is lucky not to be alone, to have Crystal with her. It's difficult, being responsible for another person’s well-being, but she’s thirteen, and that means she’s old enough to know the things required of her. Crystal still asks her where their parents are, almost every single day, and cries when Medusa says they aren't coming back.

It makes her want to cry too, but she cannot.

She has to be strong, for her little sister. Crystal is not even five years old. There are many things she cannot understand yet, many things she cannot do alone, and she needs Medusa, needs her to be there and help her.

They're all the other has left in this world.

 

* * *

 

Medusa is fortunate to have free time after her lessons each day. She used to spend most of it sneaking around the palace with Prince Maximus, playing tricks and getting into trouble. After what happened to her parents, she doesn't dare cause any more problems.

There are servants in the palace who take care of the children during the day, and knowing Crystal is being looked after, Medusa spends much of her free time wandering around, looking for quiet places where she can sit and think, away from everyone else.

Her mind is full of many worries, but she cannot speak with anyone about them, and it's difficult trying to keep everything to herself. She wonders how much more difficult it would be if she had even more responsibilities, and counts herself as lucky that it is only Crystal she has to watch over. And Lockjaw. Though he spent most of his time sleeping or chasing innocent people passing by in the courtyard.

She fears she may not be able to look after Crystal for very much longer, and that scares her more than anything.

It's the central thought on her mind as she sits in an alcove tucked behind a pillar, curled up into a ball and almost invisible to anyone who is not purposely searching for her. She hasn't been to this part of the palace many times in the past, but thinks she might frequent it in the future, for it is emptier here than anywhere else.

An hour passes before she is disturbed, the sound of footsteps echoing down the hallways startling her as she tries to stay as still and small as possible. She watches as Maximus comes into view, and hopes that he will not discover her, for she is in no mood to speak with him. The logger she avoids him the more annoyed he seems rah time they do meet, and she has not spoken to him in weeks now.

Fortunately, his attentions seem to be elsewhere.

She watches silently as he struggles in pulling open a door she had assumed lead to a storage room of some sort, quickly disappearing inside when he manages. Her curiosity is piqued as she wonders what he is doing in there.

It does not take long for her to find out.

He storms out not five minutes later, clearly angry at something, and stalks down the hallway without looking in her direction once. She waits for a few moments, listening for the presence of any others coming her way, and when there is nothing, she pushes herself off the ground and moves towards the door.

It takes her some feeling around to find exactly where it is, and when she does, she uses all her force to pull it open, having seen how difficult it was for Maximus, pausing when she sees what was that the door concealed.

The room is spherical, white, and very sparse, but that's not what captures her attention. It's the young man standing in the centre, watching her with wide eyes.

She takes in the single bed in the centre of the room, a tiny desk and chair, and little else, the symbol of the House of Agon emblazoned on the black suit the man is wearing, and the way he is clenching his jaw.

Blackagar Boltagon, the Crown Prince of Attilan.

She's heard tales of what happened after his terrigenesis, learned of the death of the King and Queen, and how the Prince was taken and would be locked away until he could control his powers.

Medusa has even seen him before, but only in passing. She's confident he has never noticed her. People seldom did. She was quite plain looking after all, an average height and weight for her age with dark auburn hair that didn't do much to catch the light.

For a moment, she wonders if she should be afraid. People said he could destroy the entire city if he slipped up and spoke, like he caused the death of his own parents, but looking at him now, he does not seem so different to her very brief memories of him. She takes a step forward, offering a little smile before she speaks.

“Hello, I'm Medusa.”

He stands as she approaches, fear in his eyes, and she pauses, listening as the door slowly comes to a close behind her.

“I know everyone's afraid of you, but I'm not.”

She hopes that the words will reassure him, but the fear does not fade, even as he gently inclined his head in an attempt to convey that he understands what she is trying to tell him.

Her parents have been gone for a year. Sometimes she is angry, because she wishes they had chose her and Crystal over their ideologies, but most often she is sad, missing them. She is always frustrated, that no one seems to care about what they had lost, the family that had been torn apart.

The King and Queen have only been dead for four months.

She wonders, if anyone has stopped to ask the Prince how he feels. He was responsible for the death of his parents. It was his voice that destroyed them, just days after his terrigenesis. Had anyone tried to comfort him, before locking him away like a prisoner?

Medusa knows what she wants to hear most from another person, what would make her feel easier and less distraught. She knows that the Prince cannot answer her, but she asks him anyway.

“Are you okay?”


	4. Responsibility (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the last part :) hope you enjoy!

One morning, Medusa wakes up, and she isn’t alone.

There’s a warmth pressed against her side, and she nearly leaps from her bed in terror before recognising who her surprise visitor is.

Crystal.

She sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and sees Lockjaw’s massive form, asleep at the end of her bed, and figures her sister’s most loyal friend had teleported her right over in the middle of the night. Thankfully, she's still fast asleep, despite Medusa’s movements, her light blonde hair fanned out around her head.

Medusa wonders what her sister could possibly be doing here, in her bed, but she figures these questions will likely be answered when Crystal awakens if her own accord. So she lies back down, carefully arranging the covers of the bed back around them so that her sister won't get cold. They stay there for a while, until Crystal begins to shift, turning from side to side and then pushing herself up, letting out a little yawn.

“Good morning.”

Her face lights up at the sound of Medusa’s voice, and she pitches forward into her arms, the sisters sharing a loving embrace before Medusa pulls away, brushing Crystal’s hair from her face with gentle hands.

“You know you have your own bed, Crystal.”

She nods, smile fading just a little.

“I wanted to sleep here with you. I miss you. Where have you been?”

Medusa frowns as Crystal hugs her once more, tiny arms and legs finding purchase around her body, and she gently pats her sister's back, her thoughts a jumbled mess.

She thinks of her own life, the way it's been these past few months and wonders about the choices she is making. There's nothing in the world more important to her than making sure Crystal is safe.

Maybe that has to be enough.

 

* * *

 

_You look unwell._

Medusa glances up from the book in her hands when she sees Black Bolt moving his, testing out the signs he has been working on since his confinement. She is not yet able to understand them all, but she's trying as hard as she can, despite knowing that her days here are likely numbered.

“That's hardly a polite thing to say to a lady,” she jokes, not wanting to discuss her worries. Black Bolt has enough to be concerned about all on his own, and she's only here to be a companion to him and ease his loneliness. She does not expect him to reciprocate.

He points to her, his fingers stretching out and hovering over her lips, before pointing to himself, and she sighs, understanding the gesture.

“I will be undergoing terrigenesis soon, in a few weeks. If… if my powers… Crystal is only five. If I'm not here, I can't protect her.”

She's so afraid. If terrigenesis gives her a gift considered useless in the eyes of the genetic council, she knows she will be sent away from here and down to live amongst the rest of the lower caste inhumans. She has no issues with accepting her fate, but she cannot bear the thought of being away from Crystal.

_I wish there was something I could do._

Black Bolt seems concerned, his face marred by a deep frown, and she shakes her head, her hair falling into her eyes. She knows there is nothing that can help her now. Not even the rightful king of Attilan, who sits locked up in this prison of his, unable to defy the wishes of the genetic council.

“You're… you're being a good friend to me… you listen. That's more than I could ever ask.”

She tries to smile, and it probably comes out looking quite pained, but he nods once, closing his eyes, and she's truly grateful for his calming presence.

 

* * *

 

It isn't until later that night, when she's alone in her rooms once more, that she realises Crystal isn't the only person she will miss if she's sent away.

Black Bolt is quiet but kind, and they had only just started getting to know each other.

She wonders if he will forget all about her if she's sent away, never to return.

 

* * *

 

Medusa makes a point to spend more time with Crystal in the weeks leading up to her terrigenesis, savouring the time they have together.

Consequently, she pays no more visits to the Prince’s chambers, not wanting to hold onto the little hope she still had that all would be well.

Crystal loves the attention, and is not yet old enough to understand why Medusa is doing all this.

It's better this way.

* * *

 

Black Bolt fears he is close to losing his mind.

From the day he was first brought here, into this chamber, he had wondered if he would slowly descend into insanity out of pure loneliness. Maximus visited sparingly, but came only to taunt him or call him a murderer.

It hurt.

And then she had showed up.

Medusa.

Kind and witty, and without judgement. She was the first person to speak to him as if he were not a freak, to treat him normally. He had been afraid, having someone around so often, fearing how the genetic council might react, but she had assured him that sneaking around was one thing she was fairly skilled at.

He wanted to interject and tell her that it seemed there was very little she couldn't do, but he had not the means to do so back then.

Her visits are the highlight of his lonely days, the rest of his time spent studying, training and meditating, and endless cycle of repetitive motions that seemed only bearable when he imagined seeing her once more. He thinks she is very pretty, with the most beautiful smile he has ever seen. Her eyes are often sad though, like his own when she is not around.

She had spoken of her fears about her terrigenesis, the last time he saw her, almost six months ago. He wishes he had told her then, that he was scared to.

It's selfish of him, but he needs her to stay here.

He needs her.

And he fears she may be gone forever.


	5. Responsibility (III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is a follow up to the last part :)

Medusa is nervous about going to see Black Bolt again.

One hundred and ninety-two days have passed since her terrigenesis - she has been keeping track, and she has found a reason not to pay her friend a visit on every single one of those days.

She runs out of excuses by day one hundred and ninety-three.

Her hair swirls around like a crimson hurricane as she paces through her room, trying to decide how to dress and how to act. It's been so long, and she knows that it’s her fault. She wonders how Black Bolt is, misses his company each and every day, but she's so afraid to go and see him.

What if he's angry that she disappeared, or worse, forgotten all about her?

The thought is a painful one to bear.

She sits on the edge of her bed, meticulously combing out her hair, smoothing each and every strand before coaxing them into a loose braid which hangs over one shoulder. It's easier to stop the tendrils from getting tangled together when she has them in place.

The dress she eventually picks is one she hasn't worn before, a lilac gown that had been a gift from her parents prior to their banishment. It's beautiful, but has always served as a painful reminder of their absence, but she pulls it out today and wears it in memory of them.

For the first time in her life, she feels pretty.

She allows her hair to come loose once more, and studies herself in the mirror for a moment too long before slipping from her rooms and making her way through the hallways and towards Black Bolt’s chambers.

Medusa doesn't know why she feels the need to present herself to him like this, because she never has before. She wonders if her hair is the only thing that’s changed in the past months.

Her nervousness intensifies as his chambers come into view, and as she had done before, she slips behind a pillar, waiting to make sure there is no one around before moving to open the door, slipping inside in the blink of an eye.

What she sees terrifies her.

The room itself hasn't changed much physically since she last came here, but the air is heavier, the mood somehow darker. There are scraps of paper, torn up and scattered about the floor, but what scares her most is the lone figure, curled up on the small bed in the centre of it all.

Black Bolt.

He's completely still, unmoving, with his back facing her, the sheets haphazardly kicked off to one side.

It's the middle of the day and he's laid up in bed and a thousand horrific thoughts cross her mind as she approaches as silently as she can manage, her footsteps almost inaudible as she makes her way over to him. He doesn't shift, doesn't turn to see who has entered his chambers and she hopes he's just asleep.

She’s afraid calling out his name may startle him, but hesitant to reach out and touch him, as bold as she is about other things in life. Black Bolt may have no authority now, but with his parents gone he's the rightful King, and she's always viewed him as such, even while trying to befriend him.

Medusa knows her place in their society.

She stands over his still form, and whispers his name, but he remains unmoving and she wonders if he is purposely ignoring her. He would not be so cruel as to do such a thing, even though she had avoided him for so long. Black Bolt is a kinder person than she is; it's something she believes with all of her heart. So she hesitantly reaches out towards him, almost pulling her hand back several times before her fingers make contact with his shoulder, feeling the leather of his suit for a fraction of a second before it’s torn away.

Black Bolt leaps off the bed, turning in her direction and she stumbles backwards in fear, her hair writhing in the air around her. He has the gaze of a madman, unfocused, confused and she tries to keep still as his gaze roams over her, freezing completely when he looks her in the eye.

“I'm sorry,” she whispers, even though she knows she should probably say no more and just leave before her presence upsets him any further.

She watches as his hands move shakily in the air between them, forming familiar signs that she has been studying every day since the first.

_Are you really here?_

He almost appears to be afraid of her, and she hastily nods even as he shakes his head.

“Black Bolt.”

She says his name again, this time a little louder, but still he continues to shake his head, as if refusing to believe her. Medusa doesn't know what the right thing to do in this situation is, but she follows her instincts, and slowly stretches out a hand in his direction. She watches him stare at it, as if he has never seen a hand before in his life, and tries to keep her breathing steady as he slowly makes his way over, reaching out towards her.

Her heart beats faster and faster until the moment his fingers close around her wrist and she finds herself struggling to process what exactly is happening.

Black Bolt, he’s holding her hand, well, her arm, and she feels the strangest sensation where their skin is touching, like little sparks of energy. She's not allowed much time to refocus her thoughts, because before she knows it, he's pulled her into his arms.

Her face is pressed against his chest, and she thinks that's probably a good thing, because she's blushing a deeper shade of red than her hair. She can feel his heart beating beneath her cheek, his chin resting against the crown of her head and his arms.

Medusa isn't sure how long they stay like that, but she feels a sense of loss as he pulls away. She's quickly distracted from it when he motions to her hair, a glimmer of light in his eyes that had been missing earlier.

It's as if… she thinks he may have missed her during her absence.

She ducks her head, a futile attempt to hide her flaming cheeks which she’s sure he's noticed by now, and speaks of the gift she had received months earlier, and the things that have happened to her since.

_It’s beautiful_ , he signs of her hair eventually, and she has no idea how to respond to that.

 

* * *

 

Medusa doesn't figure out a response to Black Bolt’s compliments till many years later.

 

* * *

 

She awakens one morning with the distinct sense she is being watched, and slowly opens her eyes to see what might be her favourite sight in the world.

Her husband in the early hours of the day, his hair messy from sleep, completely relaxed without the burdens of his role causing tension in his body. He's staring at her, amusement in the blue eyes she loves so much, and here, together, they're not the queen and king, just two people who love one another.

She reaches out to cup his jaw, her fingers trailing over his stubble even as she curls her hair around them, coercing his body closer to hers.

_You’re the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen._

Her Black Bolt, he's sappy like that.

Sometimes she teases him about it, joking that his eyes must not work properly, but other times, like today, she leans in and kisses him, just because she can.


	6. Admiration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FriendLey asked for "something about black bolt and medusa's hair". I hope you like it :)

Black Bolt has always had the deepest admiration for Medusa’s hair.

It started from the very first day when she had revealed her newfound abilities to him, sneaking into his chambers after dark and showing him what the mists had bestowed upon her. The rest of the royal family had been present at the ceremony, watched on as she transformed.

He was not granted that same luxury, locked away in his rooms, longing to be there, to support her.

Her hair had been shorter then, but no less beautiful, and he watched it grow as their time together passed by, as their love for one another blossomed. Whilst he had no choice but to keep his abilities locked away, for the safety of all those he held dear, she was free to exercise her powers whenever and wherever she wished. She had always been quite conscious about it, reigning in her abilities whilst in the presence of others, demonstrating her strength and control.

Medusa never hid around him.

He knew he was lucky, to be fortunate enough to see how her hair would move in accordance to her mood, watch as her abilities continued to strengthen, how her confidence increased along with it.

She let him touch it when he asked.

He knew how much it bothered her when people would reach out and try to touch it, seen the way her shoulders slumped when she spoke of it, how her hair would lie flat against her back, a reflection of her feelings about the matter. It had taken him weeks to build up the courage to ask her, but she had smiled upon hearing his request, and reached out a strand to brush against the back of his hand in a friendly greeting.

The barriers between them slowly fell away after that.

He'd admired her bravery, her courage and strength from the day she first snuck into his chambers to visit him when they were both young, foolish and longed for companionship in the world over all else. Thinking back upon it, he was half in love with her by the seventh time she visited him, and he had only fallen deeper and deeper as the days passed by. Their shy, timid touches had evolved into long embraces when greeting one another, or bidding each other farewell when she inevitably had to leave for the day.

She often brushed his cheek with a tendril of hair, caressing the line of his jaw before slipping out the door. He would spend the rest of the day with the memory of her touch on his mind.

Even at seventeen, he had come upon the realisation that he could never care for another as much as he did Medusa.

 

* * *

 

His first request to the genetic council upon his release was that he be permitted to marry Medusa.

When they voiced their opinions on the matter, it became his first demand.

He would take no other woman as his queen.

 

* * *

 

Marriages in Attilan were conducted out in the open, for all the people to witness. Traditionally, a ribbon would be tied around the wrists of the man and woman, symbolic in binding them together for the rest of their days.

On their wedding day there was no ribbon, only her hair winding around their joined hands, a display of their unique bond.

It went against their customs, but one one could find an excuse to object.

 

* * *

 

Their lives were full of difficult choices.

Whenever he had found himself stressed, confused, unsure of what to do, he had retreated to his old chambers to meditate, to clear his mind and calm himself. When he was sick of the peace and quiet he would return to their rooms, where Medusa would always be waiting.

There was little he found more comforting than when she was curled up in his arms, pressing gentle kisses against his cheek, her hair a cocoon that surrounded them, protected them.

Sometimes she had used the strands to hold him down while they made love, laughed as he struggled against her strength.

Her hair was brushed each night before they retired to bed. Sometimes he watched as she combed through the strands, listened as she hummed to herself. Sometimes he would do it for her as she spoke to him about the various things on her mind.

Always, it would end up splayed out over their pillows as they curled up together to sleep.

 

* * *

 

He still cannot believe that it's gone.

Medusa is resting against him now, sitting between his legs with her back pressed to his chest, and he can feel the gazes of Gorgon and Karnak each time they sneak a glance in his direction. Louise, the human scientist, is far less subtle with her observation, close to openly gawking at them from across the room.

He cares very little.

Medusa’s hands move over his own, her fingers tracing every curve, every ridge, every bump, and he does the same to her. It's just something they do to keep calm, to relax, comforting one another through touch.

She's told him multiple times that she's fine, but he's always been able to see through her lies. Their powers are part of their beings, and to have them taken away is barbaric. It's different for him, not using his voice. His destructive abilities are still there within him, and it is his choice to keep them locked away.

Medusa’s abilities were not dangerous. They were beautiful. And Maximus had stolen them from her, brought her pain and revelled in it.

His jaw clenches just thinking of his brother, and his wife is perceptive as always, tilting her head back to gaze up at him.

“Black Bolt.”

She whispers his name as a warning, and he forces himself to take a deep breath, shaking his head. He cranes his neck a little, capturing her lips as she turns in his arms so they can kiss more comfortably. It's not something they generally engage in whilst in the company of others, but privacy is the least of their concerns, stranded on planet earth. Kissing Medusa, it's familiar, comforting and intimate, all rolled into one, brings him a kind of joy he cannot describe via his signs.

Her lips are soft and gentle against his, far from the desperate kisses they had exchanged upon reuniting. They take their time now, just savouring being together again.

“I'm okay,” she tells him again when they pull apart, and he knows she's just saying the words for his sake.

_You're not. You're strong, my queen, but don't hide your feelings from me. It's my turn to protect you._

She softens as he speaks, her shoulders slumping slightly as she shakes her head, burying her face against his neck. He presses a kiss to her scalp, feeling the short hairs bristle beneath his lips, and wraps his arms around her, holding her. It doesn't take long for her to drift off to sleep.

Black Bolt leans his head back against the concrete wall, closing his eyes and listening to the quiet conversation between his cousins and Louise. She questions them about Medusa, and _the hair thing_ and he allows a small smile at the descriptions Gorgon presents.

He tells of how long and vibrant it was, how it could dance like a crackling fire and snap like a whip to knock someone down in a single blow, how no one else possessed anything that could compare to it.

His cousin paints a pretty picture, but he knows that Medusa is just as beautiful, just as strong and just as irreplaceable to him without her long red tresses.

He knows it will grow back eventually, with time, and he looks forward to reliving the memories of the days when they first fell in love, when he watches it grow once more. 

**Author's Note:**

> as always if you enjoyed, i always appreciate kudos and comments :) you can prompt me in the comments or over on my [tumblr](http://marvelelle.tumblr.com/ask)


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